


Cold-Blooded Love

by Iseniich



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Champion!Green Oak, M/M, Serial Killer!Red, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 11:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14211810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iseniich/pseuds/Iseniich
Summary: Green is a Champion, and Red is a serial killer who has a thing for him. (Triggering content including Blood, Gore, and Violence) (Music Inspirations: Psychotic && Cold Blooded Love)





	Cold-Blooded Love

The first time Red saw Green, he thought -  _prey_. He and his mother had never moved to Pallet Town, and after hearing about how peaceful that little town was, harbored an intense dislike of the inhabitants. His own tiny home in Lavender Town had been many things, but never had it been  _peaceful_. With ghosts crawling over every corner, threats curling from outside and within, he instinctively hated people who were so falsely ‘peaceful’. He would have become a trainer if it hadn’t been the same year he’d started taking lives.

* * *

Instead, he’d remained a ‘mediocre’ trainer, flying barely under the radar of the League as a relatively dependable but hardly important trainer, and he sought out targets to sate his own internal rage.

He’d seen the way the boy had moved and called him  _weak_. He had been raised in the lap of luxury, the comforts of which Red had been denied. And then he’d met him. Playing waitstaff, he’d gotten close enough to listen to the conversation, and it had surprised him how spiteful the boy seemed, mouth twisted in pretty contempt as he spoke, a glass of champagne lazily twirled in a hand as he traded verbal barbs back and forth.

Red had listened, and watched, and wondered at it. Words were not Red’s forte - his voice was a pain. He preferred more direct methods of speaking to people. Usually with his knives. But the elegance of a verbal battlefield was certainly intriguing.

So he let Green be. For now, at least. He had plans to see how this developed, began to do his own research into the subject he had thought of as prey. Despite the Champion’s famed name, the boy had done nothing of the sort to curry favor using it. Every article published since his crowning was either scathing or judgmental - nitpicking every flaw until it disappeared, laying his life bare like map. The boy always _seemed_  warm and welcoming, every bit the weak creature Red liked to crush with his knives, but the personal visits - and the events he would sneak into as part of the waitstaff - told a considerably different story. He was not warm. His gaze was cold as the ice he favored, as sharp as the knives he wielded, and as deadly as the blood he craved on his hands.

He analyzed and peeled apart the man, and the more he learned, the hungrier for knowledge he was. He wanted more. He  _starved_  for it. So he got better. Pushed himself, harder and faster, and higher until he could apply for the status of Elite Four. And now he was here. Standing before him.

* * *

Green has such  _gorgeous_  eyes. They’re amber in the current light, though he’s seen them flash through shades of vivid gold and darker honeyed bronze depending on his mood. Red knew the darker shades expressed his pleasure, and privately, he wanted to give that to him. To Green - for him to lay spread out on their shared bed, dark-eyed and pliant after sex. Green gives him a final once over, before his gaze flicks away, seemingly disinterested.

Red knows better. There had been a brief flash of bronze in those gorgeous eyes, intrigue in them. He knew he had Green’s interest, his attention.

In time, he’d have Green’s lust and love as well.

* * *

Green worked hard and long hours. Red had learned that Green considered even the Elite Four below his regard if they didn’t maintain similar work ethics. While Red’s efforts were considerably… different, in their focus, he could easily mesh it into his current workload, pluck victims from his list and slaughter them when the niceties get to be too much, the frustration of not getting Green to grow closer to him as more than just a coworker. He pours his rage into his work, and it seems to do something. When the Champion observes him, it’s with bronzed irises, not the terrifyingly solar yellow shade that he catches sometimes when Karen or Will stumble on some misdemeanor or other. Green is a wonderful thing, warmth wrapped in a frozen, sharp shawl of broken glass, razor wit, and deadly gaze.

But he softens at the sight of Red, just a little bit, and he considers that his finest achievement.

* * *

Blood stains his skin, the splashes of it as soothing as a burn heal on his skin. His fury had been bubbling under the surface for weeks, itching to be let out and practically screaming for release. His target had been one of Green’s more disliked enemies - a bitter man who used his money to purchase a brothel and run it illegally. Green had been seething once the information had gone through the proper channels, and for once, Red shared in that rage, basked in in while the other elites quietly turned tail and let Green continue what he was doing.

It had been him who had soothed his furious champion.  _Him_ , who had promised that the bastard would pay. It had been worth it, to watch Green’s beautifully expressive eyes run the gauntlet from their neon shades to the darkening, rich bronze that Green seemed to save for him. So utterly satisfying, almost enough for Red to allow law enforcement to do their jobs without his interference. But no.

He had promised Green  _vengeance_. And Red was a man of his word.

* * *

When Green finds out - and he does find out, he’s not stupid - his champion doesn’t speak to him for a month. Red considers it, deems the punishment fair, and wallows in misery for the next several weeks until Green summons him. The Champion’s throne room is empty, Green lounging upon it like he  _owned_  it. The years had been kind to his Champion, all lean, feral grace, sinful clothes hugging his body, slipping over his divine curves as though it was a second skin.

His lips were reddened, and Red knows that his Champion has been in deep thought. A pretty, pink tongue flicks out to lick his lips, and Red has to tear his gaze away before he reaches out and touches Green without permission. His breath quickens though, and from the corner of his eye, he can see Green’s lips curl up into a wicked,  _wicked_  little smile. They’re alone, and Red is still kneeling in polite greeting. Green hasn’t allowed him to stand, not yet.

His skin prickles with awareness, knows that the significance of their being alone is  _not_  lost upon him. Green, even when their relationship had been less complicated, rarely stayed alone with him. He’s not looking Green’s way, chest hammering as he feels the weight of Green’s gaze upon him. His cheeks flush slightly, and Red has to wonder what this was, what was his Champion  _doing_ , when the man’s boot taps against his cheek, slowly tilting his head up and to the side until their gazes meet. For once, he’s shorter than his Champion.

In them, Red is startled to find something like his own hunger for blood mirrored in that heavy-lidded gaze, those lovely, sunkissed features sultry and approval in the weight of them. Green’s  _beautiful_ , Red thinks dazedly, as Green uses his foot to hook it around the back of his neck, nudging him forward - the Elite was practically on his hands and knees - as he crawled closer.

Once he was close enough, Green’s hand grips his hair tight, yanks him forward until Red’s right between his legs, head craned back as he gazes upon the coolly disinterested features of his Champion. The grip is painful, and when he lets go, Red allows his gaze to roam, his head dipping down before Green’s hand calmly forces him to follow back up to his beautiful face. This time, when Green lets go, Red doesn’t look down, or away.

Red doesn’t get questioned, not in the manner of which he had expected. There was no plea for answers, no request for mercy, or even for him to let “the authorities” take care of it. Green instead takes Red home, into his bed, into his mind. Green is a passionate, vicious lover, a proclivity for sinking his teeth into flesh and for demanding - hoarsely and hungrily - for  _more_. More that Red is always willing to deliver to his Champion.He does not know who uses whom - perhaps it’s him, finally getting the feral, wild boy in bed with him at long last. He can explore every inch of cream and gold skin, lavish his love over the pretty, sharp edges of contrast between once covered flesh and the tan that cuts into his skin deeper than any knife.

He kisses it, lavishes praise over his Champion with his actions. He loves his champion. Loves him so _much_  it hurts.

He asks, hesitantly, once his Champion has had the time to enjoy his afterglow, aching for his own release, and Green snorts, hauls him up, and kisses him with teeth and tongue and a hand sneaking down his tight-fitting jeans to stroke him, fist wrapped tight and firm around his erection, and he’s panting because please please  _yes_  oh god Green, right  _there_ …

His orgasm was hot and heavy, his body on the edge of Nirvana as he shudders against Green’s bare frame, still clothed in comparison to his Champion. Green’s fingers stay where they are, before he removes his hand, eyeing it speculatively. In the end, he orders Red to strip instead, something he does hastily, pulling a laughing Green into his arms when he’s done.

Green doesn’t answer him that night.

The next week, he picks up a package from Green, specialty order of a variety of fine knives. Their weight is excellent, their balance divine. There’s a little note. A name and an address. An elegantly poised question in the form of gifts.

He used to only kill for himself. For his own satisfaction, his own pleasure. Now, armed with knives given to him by his lover, Red kills for his Champion. None dare to say that he’s wrong, and between them, the League becomes infinitely more dangerous.

After every successful kill, Red comes home, greeted by the pretty mouth of his Champion, praising him for a job well done, a task properly executed. They are above the law.

Together, they will  _rule_  Kanto, and none will say otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [Seniichi](seniichi.tumblr.com)


End file.
